


Let sleeping snakes lie

by GayForWerewolves



Series: Love you so softly [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale's anxiety tries to rear it's ugly head but I wont let it, Crowley is a Mess (Good Omens), Crowley is a sleepy cuddle monster you cant change my mind, Domestic Fluff, M/M, Other, Sleepy Cuddles, Slice of Life, mentions of canon typical gender fluidity, post apoca-not, really this fic is just my excuse to be Soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-02
Updated: 2019-08-02
Packaged: 2020-07-29 01:08:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20073631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GayForWerewolves/pseuds/GayForWerewolves
Summary: A normal day in the life of a certain angelic bookshop owner and his lazy demonic husband.Or is it? Where /is/ Crowley?





	Let sleeping snakes lie

**Author's Note:**

> unbeta'd so all mistakes are mine!
> 
> (and I have no idea how abbeys are named, if I fucked that up please tell me, thanks)

Crowley and Aziraphale had been living together in the flat above Aziraphale’s shop for almost half a year since the world didn’t actually end and it was, to use a clichéd turn of phrase, domestic bliss.

It hadn’t taken them very long to develop a comfortable daily routine that was much the same every day (with the occasional differences to spice things up). Aziraphale, not really needing sleep, but finding he quite enjoyed a bit of it if Crowley was snuggled next to him all night, awoke with the sun every morning. He would slide out of Crowley’s embrace and gently reposition the duvet and watch as Crowley curled into the warm spot that Aziraphale left behind.

Greeting the sunrise required tea, something that Aziraphale had long believed, and he would putter about the kitchen in slippered feet, putting the kettle on and making the difficult decision of what sort of tea to have and which of the pastries that Crowley never let him run out of to eat. He would spend the next hour or so sitting in his cozy chair by the window, drinking his tea, eating his pastry (or two) and reading a chapter of whatever book he was currently reading (or re-reading) as the sun rose above the horizon and illuminated London.

Tea and Pastries finished, sun risen, and chapter finished, Aziraphale would take his dishes back to the kitchen before making his way back to the bedroom to get dressed for the day. Crowley was always still fast asleep, curled up in the soft pillows and blankets, usually just a shock of red hair peeking out from the cozy bed cocoon he had made for himself. Aziraphale would dress himself, press a soft kiss to Crowley’s temple (to which he sometimes received sleepy love confessions), and go downstairs to open the shop for the day.

It was one such very normal day (a morning of Earl Grey with enough sugar to make Crowley wrinkle his nose, a fruit and custard tart _and_ a cream horn, and several poems from Whitman’s Leaves of Grass) that Aziraphale realized it was past noon and Crowley still hadn’t made his way downstairs.

It wasn’t entirely unheard of for Crowley to spend his day in the flat instead of the shop. He had taken up several hobbies since he had so much free time now and sometimes he spent the day baking (a hobby that he had mostly taken up so he could watch Aziraphale’s face light up when he presented him with little baked treats), or knitting, or sketching. He also occasionally did what he had told Aziraphale was called ‘binge watching’, usually The Golden Girls or cooking shows, and occasionally history shows because he enjoyed yelling at the screen when they were Wrong. But most of the time on days such as that he would at least wander downstairs with a cup of something warm and lovely for Aziraphale and kiss him deeply until any customers in the shop were uncomfortable and left, or he would send Aziraphale a quick text message on the cellphone that Crowley had finally convinced him to get.

Aziraphale fished around on his messy desk for where his phone had gotten itself to and opened it to check if there was a message like “feel like knitting today, love you”, “trying a new bakeoff recipe, get ready for a new dessert”, or “that cat’s on the fire escape again. Going to try drawing him.” but there was nothing. Aziraphale put his phone down on top of the documents he had been sorting and worried at his bottom lip.

There were no customers in the shop at present so he closed his eyes and Focused. It shouldn’t have been a problem if there were customers in or not but he had never figured out how to properly Focus and not glow a bit at the same time and he didn’t feel like trying to explain that away at the moment. He sat at his desk, eyes closed, Focusing, and faintly glowing for several minutes.

Nothing seemed amiss, no evil presence (other than the _technically_ evil one he was relieved to feel upstairs), and no angelic energies other than his own, so he opened his eyes and the faint glow around his white curls dimmed. Aziraphale was still a bit confused though, if nothing was wrong, why hadn’t Crowley come down for a minute or two, or sent him a message?

Aziraphale had supposed he could close the shop “for lunch” and go upstairs to see what Crowley was up to that had him so preoccupied. But that would become actual lunch, and then Crowley would tempt him to some “afternoon delight” and the day would get away from him completely. And Aziraphale so wanted to finish sorting these ancient documents from the abbey that he had once been a member of, his own curling script adorning several of the sheets of parchment spread out over his desk. 

“Nothing’s wrong,” Aziraphale mumbled to himself. “Crowley’s probably just lost in sketching something. No need to fret.”

Aziraphale tucked his phone into his pocket so he would feel if it vibrated and went back to his task of organizing the absolute mess of the documents that he had rescued from an estate sale the other day.

The day had progressed relatively smoothly. Only one customer had actually bought something and Aziraphale had spent so many hours pouring over the documents written by and for the nuns and initiates at the abbey of Saint Ursula and reminiscing about his time with them, that he had nearly forgotten his earlier worries about Crowley when he looked up and realized the sun was starting to set.

Aziraphale got up from his desk chair, stretching out the kinks in his muscles, and went to lock the door and flip the sign to “CLOSED”. He made one last cursory look over the now neat piles of papers on his desk to make sure he wasn’t leaving anything behind and shut off the shop’s lights before making his way up the stairs.

None of the lights were on in the flat and Aziraphale felt a small smidge of worry worm it’s way back into his mind. Why hadn’t Crowley turned the lights on? What had he been doing that didn’t require lamplight as the light from the sun dimmed? Aziraphale flipped on the light in the hallway to their bedroom and made his way to the door.

What he found shocked him for a minute before his face softened into a look of pure love.

Crowley was curled up, on top of the neatly made bed, fully clothed sans shoes, his shades folded and placed next to Aziraphale’s pillow that he was snuggling and his hand near his phone close by. Crowley’s finger twitched and made his phone screen light up to show an unsent text that read “still tired angel, gonna stay upstairs”. He was sound asleep.

Aziraphale’s loving look turned into gentle laughter as he toed off his own shoes before padding over to the bed and smoothing Crowley’s hair from his forehead. Yellow eyes blearily blinked up at him and Aziraphale’s smile brightened, crinkling the skin around his eyes in happiness.

“Wha time’s it?” Crowley mumbled and leaned his head into Aziraphale’s caress.

“It’s around nine in the evening. I’m afraid you slept all day, my love.”

“Mmmhp” Crowley hummed and pressed his face back into the pillow he was wrapped around. Aziraphale chuckled through his nose again and went to scratch at the spot on the back of Crowley’s scalp that he knew he liked best, eliciting a small shudder from the demon before he melted even further into the mattress and pillow.

“Do you have any particular desire to wake up or are you going to keep sleeping until tomorrow?” Aziraphale asked. “I could help you wake up if you want.”

Crowley looked up again to peek narrowed eyes at Aziraphale.

“Hmhhh or you could replace this pillow with yourself.” Crowley waggled his eyebrows and winked at Aziraphale and the angel burst into giggles.

“Oooh what a dastardly temptation!” Aziraphale managed to joke through his laughter. “Cuddles with my beloved, how wicked!”

Crowley was laughing now too, though much more subdued, and still quite sleepy.

“Thatsss me,” he teased back with a grin “Absolutely evil. Dark.....cuddles from hell.”

Aziraphale leaned down and pressed a quick giggly kiss to Crowley’s sleepily smiling lips before getting back up off the bed.

“Just let me change into something appropriately cuddly for bed, my dear and you can tempt me to that snuggle and sleep.” He looked back over his shoulder and added “Oh and you’re still in your day clothes, darling, might want to fix that.”

“Hmmmm” he heard Crowley mumble then a soft snap and he was stripped down to his black boxer briefs. Aziraphale smiled lovingly, and, shaking his head, went to go find something suitable to wear to bed with the cuddliest demon to ever exist.

**Author's Note:**

> ahhhhh I haven't actually finished a fic in YEARS wow!
> 
> If you wanna chat or whatever I'm easy to get ahold of on tumblr @punk-aziraphale


End file.
